A Winter's Tale
by A Damned Scientist
Summary: Sikozu gathers some allies and stages an intervention.


SC50: A Winter's Tale (PG)

Settings and Spoilers: Sorry, set during current comic canon, so mark up a big, fat Starburst Challenge 'fail' right there.

Disclaimer: Not mine. No money. Just the by-product of excessive booze, pickle and cheese consumption before bed-time. No Rocknes were harmed during the making of this fanfic.

Written to the TF board with just a spell check. That 'first letters' part of the challenge still doesn't read right and took more time than all the rest of the story combined. Read on, I hope you find it gets better after that.

Words: 1098

Staring tentatively around, Rockne began understanding reality seemed twisted. Chained hands, ankles, legs. Laying expectantly. Noiseless, gloomy environment. 50 wooden planks comprised the ceiling – he had counted several times.

Without warning, a veritable freak show of about a dozen assorted alien look-alikes filed into the old-fashioned bedroom of the wooden cabin where he was restrained. Not another group of crazy fans, Rockne thought to himself. Why couldn't they just let it go, get some lives? Without speaking, they gathered around the bed to which he was strapped. Searching his memory as to how he got here, he remembered driving, alone, along the isolated road through the snowbound forest. He remembered losing control of the car when, in the middle of a tight, blind curve, some sort of object, looking strangely like a Leviathan transport pod from his old show, Farscape, had blocked his way. It wasn't looking good. These must be really crazy fans if they would mock-up a whole transport pod as part of a plan to abduct him.

Frell.

"Is he awake?" Asked a voice which sounded half-familiar to Rockne, but which he could not quite place.

"Yay!" chirped a petite, female figure at the front of the group, clapping her hands and jumping up and down in celebration. "He's awake! We can get started!"

"Wha… what's going on?" Rockne stammered, pulling ineffectually against his restraints. "What do you want?"

"Allow me to explain," said a pretty young woman with generous, curly red hair and rather too little clothing for the weather and time of year. "I am Sikozu Svala Shanti Sugaysi Shanu. Our friend, Moya, brought us here using some sort of transdimensional starburst."

Despite his situation, Rockne laughed at that. "Nice costume! But you seriously expect me to believe that you're some sort of fictional characters of mine come to life?"

"In fact, Crichton thought that you are from some sort of alternate dimension. He also thought that what you describe as fiction in your dimension actually manifests in our…" the redhead began to reply.

"Not that any of us understood what he was going on about…" interrupted another woman, this one monochromatic of hue and askew of stance. She was probably the same one who had celebrated that he was awake.

"Or cared what he was going on about…" added another, deeper, male voice from the shadows.

"But if what I write is what comes true for you, how come you're here?" Rockne contested. "I didn't write you coming here."

"A very interesting conundrum," Sikozu replied, clearly enjoying discussing the paradox. "However, as Crichton explained it, apparently that may be the real reason that some authors do not like something called fanfic: Perhaps they have figured out that this sort of thing can happen?"

"Interesting for _you_, perhaps," snorted Rygel, clearly unimpressed by all this metaphysics. He came into view hovering over the bed and thus confirming that this was definitely not just a bunch of overenthusiastic fans. Or, if they were, they were very well resourced ones.

"Anyway, SOMEONE stopped us from coming here by wormhole, which would have been much quicker and more convenient," continued Sikozu, undeterred, her irritation at being inconvenienced clear in her voice. "Which brings us back to you. It seems that YOU may be responsible for some things happening to us of which we do not approve…." She held up a think wad of loose, typed pages with one hand and fanned it with an elegant finger from her other hand, adding "And as for what it seems you have planned…"

"You've been reading my outlines? Oh f….!"

"Exactly!" the grey skinned, white haired young woman interjected excitedly.

"We thought you were good, Rockne, but you're not good. You're just a….." another figure from the second row began accusing.

Sikozu interrupted the accuser, holding up a warning finger to demand silence, a huge grin on her face. "Watch your language. You know Rockne doesn't like bad language…."

"That's... very sweet of you... " Rockne commented, uncertainly.

"It's not that we're unhappy with everything you're doing…" put in a youngish woman with an extra eye in the middle of her forehead. One of the males sniggered at that, but was cut off by an elbow to the ribs from the woman beside him.

"But, with the benefit of some of Crichton's cultural references, we thought it appropriate to stage this…. What do the humans call it?" Sikozu continued.

"An intervention," supplied a tall, red-eyed, black-cloaked figure from the darkest corner of the room.

"Hmm. Exactly. We've agreed that you need to make some… alterations…. To your storylines," continued the redhead. "We're going to help you write some new stories."

"You think I can just whip them out?" Rockne protested.

"Oh, we don't think, Rockne, we know," Sikozu stated, her manner reminding Rockne of some sort of scary school mistress.

"Enough! I'll persuade him. My Qualta blade is large enough for this task!" Indicated a large male that Rockne took to be Luxan. The alien was already hefting his Qualta blade and Rockne had to concede that it was indeed very large. Perhaps he was trying to compensate for something?

"I'm sure something as crude as that won't be necessary," Sikozu continued authoritatively. Rockne found her new expression quite unsettling, suggesting as it did that she had things in mind which he would find quite…. uncomfortable. That impression was redoubled when she continued, "After all, who'd clear up the mess?" She smiled sweetly at that. Rockne felt a shiver run down his spine.

"Besides, our guest, through his previous writings, has already ensured that each of us is familiar with multifarious means of….. encouragement."

Rockne's blood went cold as Sikozu's smile broadened and she stared down at him for a few more seconds, much like a cat contemplating how to deal with a mouse it had cornered.

"You must be hungry?" Sikozu said, more of a statement than a question. Rockne gulped. "So we shall start with some of Noranti's cooking. I never did understand why we all kept eating it, until I found out about you and your influence….."

Harrumphing at Sikozu's remarks, the once-old three-eyed woman bustled forward with a steaming bowl of something so foul-smelling that Rockne's stomach was already writhing and bucking in anticipation.

"Don't worry, I'm your number one fan," Noranti encouraged him, lifting a spoon of the noxious stew to his mouth even as Jothee forced his lips apart. "There's nothing to worry about. Nothing at all."

And outside the isolated wood cabin, Rockne's screams echoed unheard around the vast, snow-bound forest. Until they were abruptly cut off by involuntary stew inside.


End file.
